Page 17 of Canadian Boyfriend

I swiveled to look at the lake, which was calm and dark blue against a lighter-blue sky. The sound of waves lapping the shore was pleasantly lulling. Or maybe that was the wine. I wasn’t much of a drinker, so I was a lightweight. I didn’t like to drink calories. Not that I was counting them anymore. In theory. But the cold, yellow wine was going down easily, which was just as well, because I was worked up about what was going to come next.

Since it couldn’t be avoided, I blurted it out: “I need to tell you something that might make you change your mind about this arrangement, and I need you to know that it’s OK to change your mind.”

Startled, Mike Martin transferred his attention from the grill to me. “OK.”

“I have panic attacks.”

“OK,” he said again.

I hadn’t thought about this aspect of things when he’d asked me to be Olivia’s chauffeur. It had only occurred to me later, which was probably a good sign, given that there had been a time when my entire life was ruled by the prospect of having a panic attack.

“Not a lot,” I elaborated as he sat across from me. And again, that was a huge improvement. “Only every once in a while.” Oh my God, this was so mortifying. It was almost as bad as telling my mom I was quitting ballet. Well, no, nothing was that bad.

“Were you having one the first time we went for ice cream?” he asked, surprising me. I’d expected questions, but I had expected them to be more about the condition itself, how I was treating it, that sort of thing.

“No.” I sent myself back to that day. “I was just… really enjoying that ice cream. But I did have one, or the start of one, in the studio once when you were there.”

“You did?” He frowned as if he didn’t know what I was talking about, which was probably another good sign. “What do you do when you have them?”

I so did not want to talk about this, but it was a fair question. “It depends on the circumstances. I do this thing called the Emotional Freedom Technique, which is—and I’m aware this sounds a bit odd—a pattern of tapping you do on various parts of your body. The point is to introduce a physical sensation. You focus on that and it helps tip your brain out of the spiral it’s in.”

“That doesn’t sound odd.”

“No?”

“When your wife dies tragically and unexpectedly, you do alot of therapy. I have my own bag of tricks.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t have to come up with anything, though, because he asked another question. “What happens if you have a panic attack while you’re driving? Has that ever happened?”

I could feel myself flushing. Even though I knew with my rational brain that there was no shame in having these struggles, I still hated that this was something I had to deal with. That I couldn’t just… get better. “It hasn’t. They tend to happen only when I’m with other people.”

“But you’d be with Olivia in the car.”

“It’s more an issue of people watching me.” Which sounded dumb, because what was teaching a dance class but being watched by a bunch of people? “Peoplejudgingme.” But maybe they weren’t. Maybe they never had been. Maybe that had just been my mother. “It’s hard to explain. I’m confident driving Olivia wouldn’t be a situation that would trigger one, but if it did happen, I’d pull over and do my interventions.”

“You’d be able to pull over?”

“Yes. They don’t come on like a ton of bricks. There’s… a runway of sorts. I can usually stop them before they become full-fledged.”

“You stopped the one in the studio you were talking about. You must have, or I’d have noticed it.”

“Yes. And if for some reason I couldn’t, I’d call for help.”

“All right, then.”

I blinked, taken off guard. I’d been half-convinced he would fire me before I even started. “That’s it?”

“I trust you.”

“But—” Why was I arguing? I’d been delighted not to have to add a car loan to my pile of debt. And beyond that, I really did want to help him. Mike Martin, I was learning, had a kindof inner sadness. Except it wasn’t sadness exactly, or it wasn’tonlysadness. It was a… blankness that became apparent when his eyes went flat.

“Gretchen speaks very highly of you,” he said. “She says you’re disciplined and reliable and that you’ve only missed four days of teaching in the five years she’s employed you and that I should definitely hire you but also try to make you take a vacation.” He flashed a little smirk.

“You checked up on me!” That explained why Gretchen hadn’t been surprised when I’d told her about the offer.

Click-click-click.Out came the full-meal-deal smile, but it disappeared as he grew serious. “I appreciate your telling me about the panic attacks, but I feel like you are a person I can trust. We all have our demons.” He glanced away as if contemplating his.

I blew out a breath.

This would be the obvious moment to ask about the mall. I just thought it would… sound so weird. I wasn’t ever going to tell him that he—if it had in fact been him—had been the basis for an entire fictional boyfriend. So that left a pathetic girl who remembered a boy she’d met for five minutes thirteen years ago. What was the point? I would have to live with the mystery.

---